Dove

Perched, no, tucked in,

on the porch swing,

a single mourning dove

huddles against chilly 

evening wind.

Lost, probably, from

all the skater doves

trying out their new 

long boards.

No, really he was 

plotting the downfall

of the tyrannical starlings,

waiting for a cue from the

scrub jay over in the poplar.

Okay, okay. The truth:

He is a murdering bird.

Two crows, a hummingbird

and a cat. All this week.

I wouldn't go out on the porch

tonight if you paid in 

gold bullion.